search

Vicky Stevens

Lucy Lightfoot

A fierce storm was ragingAs she galloped across the muddy field,Raven black hair mingled with her horses maneFrom a distance they seemed to be one creature.Nostrils flaring and fire in his eyesHe lets out a loud whinny asLucy pulls him to a halt.

Weather worn, the old village church.White paint peeling from each corner,A lone stained-glass window -An angels face peering across the tree-lined path.Rusty now the ricketty gateTo which she tethers her steed.

The sound of riding boots echoUpon the grey floorSinging along with the thunderAs heels meet the dusty ground.A loving smile plays around Lucys scarlet lipsAs she places a kiss on the cold stone cheekOf a statue carved from marble.

He died in the crusades they sayCould well have fought alongside King Richard;Lucy knows her love is not for a ghostBut her sweetheart from a former life.Feeling that the time is right she sitsHolding onto a vision - a dreamSoon to become reality.

A bolt of lightning hits the steepleThe past and future merge.For months the villagers searched for LucyThe woods were torn apart,The fight was lost and one by oneMemories faded away.

Shakily the Vicar rises from hisChair beside the fire,Bones creaking as he mutters words thatOnly God cares to hear.Watching as the flames crackle and danceSkipping round the hearth,A picture forms of Lucy running into theArms of her lover;A knight in chain mail holds on tightThis time he wont let go.